The small Italian restaurant Joel picked out is warm and intimate, the kind of place that feels like it’s been here forever, with dim lighting and the faint scent of garlic in the air. It’s been your spot for a few months now, a quiet escape from the rest of the world where you and Joel can talk without distractions.

Joel sits across from you, his sleeves rolled up, his hand loosely cradling a glass of whiskey. He’s relaxed in the way only Joel can be—still a little guarded, like he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop, but there’s warmth in his eyes as he watches you talk about your day.

You’ve been seeing each other for nearly a year now, and despite his occasional gruffness, Joel has a way of making you feel safe, grounded. He’s thoughtful in ways you didn’t expect—a hand on the small of your back as you walk, the way he remembers the little things you say, even the playlist he put together for those long drives.

Tonight, though, he seems different. Quieter. He’s been swirling his whiskey around without drinking it, his jaw working like he’s mulling over something important.

Finally, he sets the glass down and clears his throat, meeting your gaze. “I’ve been thinkin’,” he starts, his Texas drawl softened but deliberate. “’Bout you. And Sarah.”

He leans forward slightly, his elbows on the table, his eyes steady on yours. “She’s my everything. And I’ve been tryin’ to figure out the right time for you two to meet. I didn’t wanna rush it. Didn’t wanna make it more complicated than it needed to be. But I think... I think it’s time.” He leans back, his hand brushing through his hair as he studies your face. “I want you to meet her.”